Just the Devil
by eleen
Summary: Grissom and his team join forces with a mysterious Doctor and his family to solve a string of grizzly murders. But he soon finds out, he may be in way over his head. Xover with Twilight but you don’t have to know that Vampire lore to understand. Casefile.
1. Shadow Of Doubt

**Title: Just the Devil**

**Author: Eleen**

**Rating: T. Warning for minor gore. **

**Spoilers: This is AU, but I can't make any promises. **

**Summary: Grissom and his team join forces with a mysterious Doctor and his family to solve a string of grizzly murders. But our favorite entomologist soon finds out, he may be in way over his head. Crossover with "Twilight" but you don't have to know that Vampire lore to understand. **

**A/N: Okay, the following is a crossover with Twilight, a book series by Stephanie Meyer. But since the story is told from the CSIs point of view you don't have to have read them to understand. But if you do have any questions feel free to just leave a review or PM me. This a companion piece to another story of mine "Viva Las Vampire". **

* * *

Bright light city gonna set my soul  
Gonna set my soul on fire  
Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,  
So get those stakes up higher  
There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there  
And they're all livin' Devil may care  
And I'm just the devil with love to spare  
Viva Las Vegas, viva Las Vegas

**-Viva Las Vegas, Elvis Presley**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Evidence**

* * *

Grissom pointed his Maglite at the Vampire's face, but the hood was pulled down and all Grissom could make out was bright white teeth.

"What do you want?" Grissom asked.

"Me? _Me_? What do _I_ want? No, let's talk about what _you_ want." He said, anger finally was materializing in his voice. "What do you want, Dr. Grissom? I think it's time you thought about that. Because I don't think you _want _to cross something like me. For the reason of what _I_ might _want_ to do then, yes? Maybe I might want to rip her throat out? Is that what _you want?_" The Vampire used his left hand to force down the collar of Sara's shirt, exposing the skin covering her jugular. "I'm sure you have an idea of what it will look like when I'm done with her."

Grissom eyes widened, as the demon lowered his head to her neck. Sara struggled against her attacker's iron grip.

"You're in way over your head, Dr. Grissom." He said, his mouth positioned an inch above Sara's skin. "I think it's about time you realized that."

**9 days earlier**

A cell phone ring broke the science that engulfed Gil Grissom's townhouse. Grissom snapped out of a semi-conscious state and hastily seized his phone off the bedside table and flipped it open to silence the ringing.

"Grissom."

"Hey Gil, got a 420 up in Henderson." Came Brass' voice.

"Swing tapped out?" Grissom asked, glancing at the bedside clock, shift didn't start for another three hours. He rubbed his forehead and pushed the covers aside, swing his legs over the side of the bed as he did so.

"Not exactly. We got another one, another victim."

"What do we know?"

"Juliana Leishman, 32, best friend found her in her living room. Body's been posed."

"Cause of death?"

"Coroner's not here yet but it's not hard to tell form the gaping hole in her throat. Listen, I got to go, neighbors are going insane. Get here soon."

"Stupid piece of crap!"

()0()0()0()0()0()

Catherine Willows, CSI Level III, drove the pointed toe of her left shoe into her rear fender without fear of consequence. The force drove the energy strait into her big toe, resulting in a spike of pain shooting up her leg and a dent to form in her fender. As she hopped on her good foot, Catherine cursed her luck, her toes and her tires. This had been her second flat in a week, and thanks to a busy week of crime in Vegas, she'd been unable to take the stupid thing to a garage and replace the donut, now destroyed donut mind you, with a new tire.

It was her day off and she'd been coerced into driving her 15-year-old daughter to a last minute sleepover in a suburb across town, so now she was stuck somewhere between there and her house with a stubbed toe and a flat tire.

Just as Catherine was beginning to contemplate her options, she heard her cell phone go off from her purse in the passenger seat. She walked-limped-to the front of her car and swung in, locked all her doors, and reached across the center console to grab her phone.

"Hey Warrick." She said, reading the call display.

"Hey Catherine, we've got a homicide."

Catherine wondered why it wasn't Grissom calling her, the entomologist was probably knee deep in bowflies somewhere. "Listen, 'Rick, I've got a flat." She explained. "Call Sara or someone."

"Give me you're location and I'll come get you."

Her eyes sought out the nearest street sign. "Dorsia Avenue, around the Trip Wire Bar. But, what about my car?"

"Have it towed back to your place. We…"

"I'm not going to just hang around this neighborhood, Grissom's place isn't far, I'll meet you there."

"Okay. I'm on my way, the quicker were all here the better."

"Why the hurry? What's going on?" Catherine inquired.

"Cath it's…" The line cut out. "…Positioned…blood…others…." The volume of Warrick's voice waxed and waned. "…Neck ripped out…same guy…reporters…Cath? You there?"

"What guy? Warrick you're breaking up." Catherine ambled out of her car, locking the doors once more and stuffed her keys in her jean pocket. "Hold on, I'm going to try and get a better signal." Catherine slung her bag over her shoulder and began to walk up the street. When Warrick's voice didn't get any clearer she glanced at her display, she was greeted by the impending blinking red battery.

"Shit." Catherine swore as her phone died. She glanced around the practically deserted street, contemplating her options. Normally one would call a tow truck when confronted with the predicament of the flat tire, but now her phone was dead. Dorsia Avenue. Grissom's place was a few streets up and she knew where his spare key was, she'd just let herself in if he was already en route to the scene, he wouldn't mind. So she'd walk, not the wisest thing, but her choices were limited.

()0()0()0()0()0()

Grissom examined the corpse of Juliana Leishman, her throat had been torn out and the blood had splattered down her face and around the floor of the sofa where she lay in the middle of the room. Two more bodies had been found with similar MOs, and, like Juliana, their throats had been ripped out, bodies positioned the same way as they were murdered.

Catherine and Sara had combed every inch of the first crime scene, the second had been discovered during Swing but the whole Graves team had shown up to help once they realized they might have a serial on their hands. Juliana's case, and should there be others, would fall into the Nightshift's responsibility.

Nothing but a disturbing lack of evidence had been found at the first scene and he and his team had had the same discouraging result at the second. Even though the crimes were now established to be a serial, they could find no sign of a break in, or anything that indicated foul play, except for the body and blood. No yanked out hairs, no defensive wounds on the victim, not even a knocked over lamp.

"She should have more blood that this…" Grissom mused.

Nick joined him, camera in hand. "Her heads almost completely decapitated, at the angle she was positioned…" Juliana looked like she had been pushed over the sofa, her knees were the highest part of her body, legs bent over the back of the sofa. Her head and left arm were hanging off the seat by the arm rest, her torso and other arm, the majority of her weight, were being supported by the seat of the sofa. "All the blood should have ran down onto the floor." Only a small pool of blood had formed under the victim's head. "There should be a much larger pool. She looks posed, I'd say she was killed elsewhere if it wasn't for the splatter." They both looked upwards at the drops of blood forming a crude line on the low ceiling over the victim's body.

"We don't even know if it's her blood, or the killer could have staged the blood splatter as well as pose the body. That could explain how he got in here…"

_Juliana was walking alone at night, she decides to take a shortcut, a hooded figure emerges from an alley and grabs her, after slitting her throat he proceeds to quickly mutilate her neck with the blade. Blood pools on the concrete around them. After he's finished he chucks the knife into a nearby Dumpster and fishes a wallet with her license and a set of keys from his victim's purse. _

"So he kills her than goes through the trouble of transported her body back to her place of residence and positions her so that every remaining drop comes out here where she can be found, why? Killing and mutilating them is not enough for our serial?" Grissom asked the question to no one in particular.

"Maybe it's personal, hoping a loved one would find her? Or maybe a copycat? Enough of the last two killings has been spread across the news."

"A copycat would feel different. This one's the same as the others, the copycat would be sloppy. The lack of evidence is evidence in itself."

"Hey," Warrick announced himself, peeking inside from the back door. "Catherine's got a flat, I'm going to go pick her up at your place." He informed Grissom.

"What is she doing at my house?"

"It was close." Warrick shrugged and made his exit.

Grissom and Nick turned back to the corpse, Nick shone his Maglite over the blood-covered face.

"Severe trauma to the left arm." Grissom said and Nick turned his gaze to the likely Perimortem contusions decorating Juliana's arm.

"He tried to subdue her." Nick guessed. "He knocked her around a bit before he killed her."

"He would have had to have been careful, nothing here has been disturbed."

_Juliana's walking through her apartment, a man emerges from the kitchen, he seizes her arm and throws her into the wall. Her head cracks off the moldings and she crumples to the ground. The killer picks her up by her hair and drags her towards the sofa ignoring her screams._

()0()0()0()0()0()

Catherine pulled her jacket around her as she began to walk up Frine Street, the night seemed to be getting colder by the minute.

It took her a few moments of walking and denial to come to terms with the fact that the chill down her spine had nothing to do with the cold.

Catherine had been a CSI for a least 16 years, and she'd learned long before that to trust her intuition, her gut, her sixth sense if you will. And right now her entire body was telling her that something was not right. She crossed her arms and looked over her shoulder, whatever had wandered onto her radar was blending in with the shadows. She kept her pace calm and focused on the sounds around her: A car driving down the road ahead, two people arguing in the house to her left, a dog digging though a garbage pile up ahead. No footsteps, slow blacked-out cars, nor any cliched snapping twigs pursued her.

It was like that feeling you get when you left the house with the stove on or that illusive actor's name from that movie you should know you but can't recall. The unexplainable feeling of something sitting in the back of your brain, muffled.

Despite the lack of evidence, something was not right.

Quickening her pace, the CSI crossed the deserted intersection and spun around, unable to hide from the streetlights, her pursuer was forced to come into their glow.

She looked up, blinking in the luminosity of the streetlights. Some ways down the street a flash of black darted across, whoever it was, he was tall and wearing a hood pulled over his face. Catherine watched the blur pass out of the light and to her side of the street.

She thought of her daughter, miles away, blissfully eating popcorn and giggling with her friends about the captain of the basketball team. She thought about her gun, a nine-millimeter, safely tucked away in the glove compartment of her car a block down the street. She thought about Warrick, probably worrying about her. And she thought about all the cases she and the others had process that started out exactly like this…

Catherine ran.

Her pointed shoes beat it down the sidewalk, her purse swinging at her sides, keys digging into her thighs as her legs pumped extra hard. She could only hope she found a person, a squad car, a restaurant, anything before the reason she was running full tilt down Frine Street caught up with her.

Catherine tried to figure out where her predator was but she couldn't see anything behind her. She couldn't hear anything, her own breathing was too loud, her heart too loud pounding in her ears, her own feet to loud pounding on the concrete. But if she didn't hear him before, why should she hear anything now?

She found herself at another intersection. She'd be at Grissom's soon, that is, if she ever made it that far.

A car pulled up in front of her, the electric window on the passenger side whizzed down and the driver leaned over.

"Hey Cath, in a hurry?"

Catherine took a deep breath and just starred at Warrick's amused look. She felt embarrassed to be found in such a state of panic without any immediate threat in sight. But despite that, she turned to look back, an empty street greeted her, still and innocent and bathed in moonlight.

"Hey, you okay?" Warrick's previously cool demeanor was replaced with a furrowed brow of concern.

"Yeah, of course." _Not. I think I was just chased down a dark street by my imagination, _Catherine's inner voice contradicted wryly as she opened the passenger door and getting on the car.

Warrick knew that probing further into his friend's unease would get him nowhere. She'd already brushed him off and a mask of seriousness was now trying to cloud the worry set in her angular features. He buried his immediate concern and returned the easy-going grin to his face.

"We've got a crime scene to process."

**A/N: Okay, so I'm not sure what I want to do with this thing as far as pairing goes. Sandle? YoBling? Wedges? Snicker? Stillows? GSR or no GSR? I think I may do a bit of GSR. Tell me what you think. You guys do have to pick someone because I need a pairing or my epilogue won't be as sweet as I planned. And, by sweet, I don't mean fluffy. **


	2. And, Scene

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, twilight or The Pigman.

* * *

Chapter 2: And, Scene

* * *

Its interesting when people die-  
Give us dirty laundry

-"Dirty Laundry", Don Henley

* * *

Jem Banks had first penned the title "Werewolf Killer".

It wasn't as catchy as some of the previous criminals his website had covered-The Blue Paint Killer, The Henderson Hacker, The Gatewood Slasher, The Marshmallow Bandit -but the bloody paw prints had given him the perfect angle.

By sheer skill and a lot of luck he'd been first Press member on the scene of the grizzly murder of a still unidentified hooker. He'd snapped a few pics and had them emailed to his editor before the wheels of the city's printing presses had even began to turn. His News Blog had had the first exclusive pictures posted. Jem had texted in the infamous tagline "Werewolf Killer" with a close up of large bloody paw-prints beside the body and once they went up the hits poured in.

Everyone knew there were no such things as werewolves or faeries or seas monsters, but still people couldn't get enough of the rumors, it had amazed Jem how gullible people could be sometimes. But Jem loved readers, and gullible was his favorite flavor. The public always had an appetite for a good believe-it-or-not story. This week, as with the last, Vegas was hungry for gore, especially with the blockbuster Dead End III (the number one Zombie movie in the country) having come out a few days before.

So now Jem had planted himself across the street from a murder reported to be linked to that of the hooker. Apparently, as sources had reported, the discoverer of this body had run out of the house yelling about werewolves.

Evidently, she was a reader.

For Jem, another scoop like those bloody paw prints and he'd be at the top of the food chain at his web site in no time. He'd love a chance to see his rival, Clara Simpson's, face when he blew this story wide open. This was, no doubt in his mind, a serial killer's work. All the interesting ones always did it more than once. The police could deny it all they wanted, but with Jem feeding the public these rumors the police would have no choice but to hold a press conference. And he, of course, would be there to cover it.

So there Jem sat behind a dried-out bush, waiting for the next break in the story.

Across the street, unbenounced to Jem's presence, a cop was guarding the back entrance to the corner property in which the body had been discovered. Jem dialed his lackey, Andy's, cell.

"Okay, see the guy by the door? With his arms folded."

"Roger, I see him."

"Be a professional," Jem snapped at Andy's immaturity.

"Yes, Sir."

Jem massaged his temples as he spoke. "I need you to get him out of there, I trust you brought our distraction?"

"Affirmative."

"Well? What are you waiting for. And I'm by number 274 so make sure I have a clear entry."

"Roger that, chief." Andy hung up.

A few seconds later the steady murmur of the crowd - that had gathered around the front of the crime scene and had occupied the quaint neighborhood since the news of a murder had spread - was fractured by a small boom. Jem could just make out a stream of white foam darting into the air emancipating itself from the same area that the boom had resonating from. The cop at the back door heard the sound to and rushed off towards the source. Jem, camera at the ready, bolted up the steep side-yard towards the unguarded doorway once the cop was far enough away.

He bolted up onto the back porch and threw open the door with his left hand, his right trigger-happy with his camera.

"Hey!"

Jem beat it through the yard and into the street. He could hear someone chasing him so he took a sharp turn and boldly plunged into someone's overgrown side yard.

"Hey you, stop!"

Jem detected an accent. He was being chased by a freakin' Texan track star.

_Great…_

o0o0o0o0o0o

Sara arrived the same time Greg did. He greeted her with a grim smile that she returned. They weaved their way through the crowd and ducked under the crime tape together. Brass seemed to appear out of nowhere and joined their journey up the yard, their feet crunching simultaneously on the dead yellow lawn.

"Victim: Juliana Leishman, age 37, found about an hour ago by her friend, Eleanor Foss, were taking her statement down at the station."

"We think it's the same guy as the others?" Sara asked him as they neared the door.

"See for yourself," Brass said, nodding his head towards the house but going no further.

Once through the entryway Greg and Sara found themselves in a wide Great Room. Greg's eyes scanned the scene - to eventually settle on the victim positioned on the sofa. The Great Room, serving as a living room and dining room, was decorated with earth tones and featured no less than ten white-trimmed windows. The furniture was a coordinating white and looked clean but uncomfortable. Well, Juliana Leishman undoubtedly found it uncomfortable.

Grissom instructed Greg to start dusting the perimeter of the great room and Sara to take the kitchen, which was presumably located through the unadorned white door at the back of the room.

Greg began his dusting escapade along the east wall of the house, printing the windows. The blinds were drawn on the windows, he started with the first one by dusting the blinds, this yielded nothing. He then carefully drew the blinds partially up and swirled his brush over the ledge, three prints appeared. They were probably from the three middle fingers and also properly useless but Greg carefully lifted and labeled them all the same – just incase. After dropping the tape-lift gently into his open kit, he moved on to next window, and then to the next, meticulously dusting each as the one before. Each yielded a print or two, but the fingers that made most of them looked small enough to only be that of a child's.

About five minutes in, Sara called Grissom into the kitchen, Greg looked up to watch him go, wondering if she'd found something probative, if she did, they'd all know soon enough.

Between the eighth and ninth window there was a door. It had remained slightly ajar by a half an inch as the other investigators moved in and out of the house. The doorknob had already been dusted before he arrived so as no one would destroy any possibly probative prints if the need to use the side door arose.

He contemplated dusting the small window near the top of the door but in that moment the door burst open with such a force that it rammed into Greg's face and sent him flying backwards.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Sara's camera flashed illuminating the array of artwork displayed on the Leishman's fridge as she took over-alls of the kitchen. He eyes drifted to an older painting, the paper browned with age, its curled edges held to the fridge by colorful magnets. The painting depicted a monochromatic stick-figured family, two adults and two children.

The Leishman's kitchen was immaculately clean for a home with children, Sara thought. The kitchen was spacious and seemed to be themed simply beige with matching tiles and cabinets. A single window gave light over the sink and at the end of the room was a patio door that opened onto the porch. Aside from some a bowl full of sugar and a few carefully arranged ingredients, the room was spotless.

Almost.

Sara caught sight of something dark against the beige floortiles, a few small drops of blood. She carefully placed an evidence maker beside it and snapped a few photos.

"Grissom!" She called, releasing her camera to let in hang around her neck and unzipping a vest pocket to retrieve a swab. She carefully pressed it into one of the blood drops before straitening up. Methodically, she applied a squirt of phenolphthalein followed shortly by one of hydrogen peroxide. Just as the swab turned a bright and familiar fuchsia, Grissom breezed into the room.

"I got blood," She declared, a morbid, crooked smile easing onto her face as she raised the swab for him to see then nodded to the droplets on the ground. "I think this is where it started."

"There's no blood trail." He said as he turned, his flashlight sweeping along the floor towards the door. Whereas Sara seemed to be in an okay mood, Grissom was as detached as usual. Sara attributed this to a lack of bugs and rollercoasters.

"Well they're round, gravitational, indicates that whomever blood it was was stationary when the injury occurred." Sara pointed out as she placed the swab away.

"And that injury must have occurred around the time of the murder."

"Who just leaves blood on the floor, especially in a place as clean as this." Sara finished his thought, as he knew she would.

"If the killer caused this, he must have interrupted her." Grissom turned toward the abandon ingredients on the counter.

"But what injury leaves just one perfect blood drop?"

There was a sudden barrage of thuds and a clatter from the living room.

"Hey! Stop!" It was Nick's voice.

Sara carefully, but swiftly, removed her camera from around her neck and placed a hand at her sidearm, Grissom did the same. He took the lead, moving to the doorway and sticking his head slowly around the doorframe to scan the living room.

"Nick?" He called stepping into the living area, Sara followed. "Greg?"

Nick was nowhere in sight and the side door was wide open. As Sara stepped farther into the room she saw a pair of legs sticking out from behind the sofa.

"Greg!"

She and Grissom rushed over to the other side of the sofa as Brass rushed in the front door with two uniforms.

"What happened?" Brass's eyes scanned the room

"Unfortunately," Grissom said, while Sara found Greg's pulse, "we know as much as you do at the moment."

As the two officers crossed behind the couch and headed out the open door, careful to avoid the body and the two CSIs, Brass reached for his radio.

"Control, this is 2-Zero-3, Charlie-Captain-Brass, I need an ETA on the ambulance responding to the 420 over on crescent drive in Henderson…"

"Greg, Greg…" Sara chanted nearby. Greg had landed partially in the blood pool under the victim's head. Doubting a spinal cord injury, Sara placed a hand under his head. She searched his immobile face for some kind of response.

TBC


	3. Dead People

**A/N: Still working on Viva Las Vampire, but this chapter has been sitting around on my comp becoming steadily longer so I thought it was about time to post it.**

* * *

Chapter 3: Dead People

* * *

It's a multiple down in solitary  
and you'll uncover the evidence  
shanghaied by a fishnet stocking  
I'll hold you close while they dust for prints

-Evil Night Together, Jill Tracey

* * *

Warrick and Catherine arrived just in time to see Greg being guided down the lawn towards one of parked Tahoes by Sara. Behind them, two EMT's bearing a black body bag on a stretcher moved slowly towards the Ambulance parked on the lawn. Grissom and Brass stood watching in the doorway, they're arms folded.

"You guys haven't seen Nick, have you?" Brass asked Warrick and Catherine as they approached.

"No, you lost him?" Warrick responded with a good-naturedly, confused look.

"Not sure, we sent two uniforms to search…" Brass began before recounting the night's event's to the two CSIs with occasional input by Grissom. He, Sara and Greg had been processing the scene when an intruder barged in, taking Greg out in the process. Nick had given chase. "…And Sara's escorting him back to the Hospital, poor kid got quite the bump on the head, I think she's going to bully him into getting a CAT scan."

"So, we got one dead girl and one missing CSI." Warrick summarized.

"Turing out to be a banner night." Was Brass's choice response.

Just then, Grissom cell phone went off, he retrieved it from his belt and flipped it open.

"Grissom."

"Griss, it's me!"

"Nick! Where are you?" Grissom pressed a button on his phone and Nick's voice came unto speaker.

"Somewhere…umm…Sky Hollow Drive, according to the sign." Nick's voice informed them between labored breaths.

"What about the Perp?" Brass said to the phone in Grissom's outstretched hand.

"Lost him, he had a vehicle waiting, only got a partial plate."

"Well, hang tight, I'll get a unit to come pick you up."

"In the mean time, you can tell us what happened.

"I was heading out of the master suite and back to where the body was when some guy smashed through the back door and started going all snap happy in our crime scene!"

"Wait, he was after pictures…?"

"Of the body. Greg was knocked out but when he saw me took off. I tried to catch him but he had a pretty good head start."

"Okay Nicky," Grissom said, "Listen, someone is going to come find you and pick you up then you can put out an APB, right after that I need you with Brass on those interviews."

"Right, Boss."

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Yeah, that's going to bruise." Sara grimaced as she sneaked a look at Greg in the passenger seat.

"Stop worrying, mom, I'll be fine." He responded, adjusting a mercifully cool water bottle over his left eye.

"One more time, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"Good. And don't call me mom." She added giving him the Sara Sidle glare.

"Duly noted." He tried to nod, but it hurt. He settled for a thumb's up with his free hand.

"So, how long was I out?"

"Not long, only a few minutes. You really scared me there for a minute, kid."

"Hey!" Greg cried, "If I can't call you mom, then you can't call me kid."

"Deal, _Greg_…" She flashed him her trademark grin. "So, you seriously don't remember anything?"

"Nope one minute I was dusting for prints the next I was looking up from the floor." He cringed from the memory which cause pain to shoot through his face and he emitted a small groan which he covered up with, "Of course, there are worse ways to wake up then looking to your face."

There's that grin again. _Today's not so bad_, he thought.

"Do we seriously have to go to the ER?" he changed the subject. "I feel fine, it's just a little bump to the head."

"Don't make me start listing all the horrible things that can result from a simple blow to the head: concussion, brain damage, cracked skull, intracerebral hemorrhage…"

"Talking to dead people."

"You're talking to dead people?"

"No, but you never know what intracerebral hemorrhage could lead to."

"Something tells me that's not one of the options."

"Never know, people probably don't publish such things in the American Journal of Forensics." Greg said as he watched out the window as the Nevada sky began to grow a few shades lighter. "Which, I know, is your preferred reading material. But, it could be very useful, in our line of work that is. No chasing down suspects that are really innocent because I could just tap into the mad psychic powers and ask 'who killed you?' and then they'd tell me and we'd know where to look. A real time saver if you ask me." He stopped and looked her at Sara.

"No, go on," she said, "this way I don't have to worry about talking to keep you awake in case you have a concussion."

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Please describe your relationship with Mrs. Leishman."

Eleanor Foss twisted her spotted handkerchief between her short pink manicured fingers. She wore a v-neck sweater the same shade as her nails and her hair was unstyled yet untangled and was currently swept out of the way behind her hunched shoulders. She took several deep breaths, looking at her hands and not the two men across from her, before answering Brass's question.

"We, um, started getting together for drinks a few months ago, she'd just moved in and I invited her out with Martha –Martha Pickford – and me to welcome her."

"Why were you at her house tonight?"

"The boys were at a friend's and we were going to have a late dinner and I was picking her up."

"How did you get in?" Nick asked her.

"Julie always kept a spare key under one of the plotted plants outside, she told me incase there was ever an emergency. She knows where mine is, too." She added hastily, her eyes were wide and a wayward tear slipped down her cheek.

"Now, I know this is difficult, Mrs. Foss, and I know you already told Captain Brass, but could you walk us through this morning one more time."

"I told Jeff, my husband, that I'd be back around 11 or so and I got in my car and drove over to Julie's to pick her up. Rob's car was gone so I knew he was at work. I went to the front door and knocked, when she didn't answer I figured she was just in the shower…" She shrugged and shifted in her seat. "She was expecting me so I let myself in with the spare key. And I….saw her on the couch. Oh…God…"

"It's okay," Nick said softly, "you're doing good."

"And all I could think of was that stupid article I read! And I just…lost it!" She cried.

"What article, Mrs. Foss?"

"Online. It was about this prostitute they found dead down by The Strip…there was blood everywhere just like…and there were these _huge_ pawprints …and guess I let my imagination run away with me." Eleanor buried her face in her hands. "It was just like I'd walked into some crazy horror movie…oh, god, this can't be real…"

"Thank you," Brass said. "Mrs. Foss, your husband's outside and Officer Metcalf will see you both out."

They all stood and Nick walked the sobbing woman out the door of the interview room and into the arms of Mr. Foss. Metcalf led them away.

Nick turned to where a man and two boys sat on a nearby bench.

"Mr. Leishman?"

Robert Leishman was tall and sturdily built with sandy blond hair and, currently, haunted red-rimmed green eyes. He nodded and got up to follow Nick into interrogation.

Another officer approached the two boys. He asked, "You guys wanna get a soda?"

Nick closed the door and took his seat beside Brass across from Mr. Leishman.

"When was the last time you spoke to your wife." Brass said, his tone was neither accusatory or gentle, simply to the point.

"Last evening, I work nights. I dropped off the kids before I went in."

"Did your wife have any plans for last night?"

"Her and Ella were going to go out."

"Did they get together regularly."

"Whenever she had the time, I guess" he shrugged, "Not much time for herself with the boys and all."

He looked a little spaced out, but occasionally his eyes would dart to the door, somewhere beyond which twin boys awaited his return.

"Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around the neighborhood? Any cars you didn't recognize?"

"No…it's a nice neighborhood, that's why we moved…we thought it was safe."

"Did your wife have any enemies."

"No. No way. No one would ever want to hurt Julie if they knew her. This had to be something random, right? It couldn't be someone who knew her, everyone who knew he loved her. I just can't imagine anyone wanting to do this to her…"

o0o0o0o0o0o

By midday, Nick had finished up at the station, Greg and Sara had returned from the hospital and they and the rest of the CSIs were able to gather in the conference room. All had accepted that were pulling at least a double today.

"What do we know?" Grissom demanded as he entered, file in hand. He peered over the edge on his glasses at his assembled team.

"First victim: Mary Andrews." Catherine said. She opened a folder and began laying out crime scene photos like she was dealing cards. Images of a woman splayed out on a kitchen table landed in front of Sara, Nick, Warrick and Greg. "Found August third by her husband."

Sara examined one of the photos. Mary's ankles had been propped up on a chair a few inches away from the table. On the opposite side of the table, the top of another chair supported what remained of her head.

"Cause of death?" She heard Nick ask. Like he needed to, but sometimes the most straightforward deaths turned out to be more than meets the eye.

"Exsanguination from near decapitation." Catherine responded. "PD interviewed her husband and a neighbor she'd had an argument with, nothing panned out."

"Evidence collected?" Sara asked.

"One unknown print and two partials, not enough to get a hit on the latter. White fibers found on the victim's blouse, possible transfer. Results came back as an cotton acrylic blend."

"Second victim, Jane Doe." Warrick said, flipping open another folder. "Found by the Luxor in an Alley off Reno Avenue." He fanned out a selection of photos on the table for the rest to see.

"I remember this one." Greg said eagerly, tapping a photo with his index finger. A purple brush decorating the top left side of his head. "It was all over the news. Something about a werewolf."

"There's no such thing as werewolves, Greg." Grissom said sternly and the younger man sunk back a little into his seat.

Sara frowned, she had hinted to Grissom to take it easy on Greg. He didn't seem to have gotten the message, she may have to be a little more blunt about it next time. She needed to be a bit more blunt about a lot of things.

"Hey, Eleanor Foss mentioned an article she read online, maybe that was it," put in Nick. "Said it really freaked her out."

"Logic was never one of the tabloid's strong points." Sara said, holding up a close-up of a bloody paw print. "Prints found around the body as well as bite-marks on her arms and legs were found to be Canine."

"Still," Grissom pressed. "We can't very well rule this an attack by a mythological creature. The more logical explanation is that she was attacked perimortem, ether right before she died or right after based on the skin around the wounds. Most likely the latter, some dogs can be scavengers."

"The case went cold, we put her face out there but no one came forward to make an ID." Warrick went on. "We assumed from her attire she was a working girl."

"And that brings us to Juliana Leishman." Grissom said, referring to the victim they'd processed this morning. He quizzed his team, "Similarities?"

"All three were women." Warrick began, stating with the obvious. "No witnesses."

"Bodies were positioned," Sara continued. "In the case of Mary and Juliana there were no sighs of a break in or of a disturbance in the house."

"See that's what I don't get." Nick said, straitening up and clasping his hands together. "Everything in those two cases points to an inside job. A husband…a friend, someone with access to the house. There are barely any defensive wounds, they didn't fight back."

"Or he jumped them." Warrick argued. "Overpowered them, killed them quickly, no chance _to_ fight back."

"Which brings us back to a serial." Catherine pointed out. "The same killer with the same MO."

"So he picks a woman," Sara said, brow furrowed as her brown eyes scanned the array of crime scene photos before her. "Maybe he follows her, figures out her schedule…figures out a time when he can get to her alone and not expect interruptions…"

"Or he sees them and goes after them immediately." Nick added.

"No, this guy's good, he's not sloppy." Grissom spoke up. "He's careful or we would have caught him by now."

"So, going on the assumption he stalks them," Sara continued, "He waits for an opportunity, somehow gains entry to their homes, jumps them, kills them and poses their bodies accordingly."

"But what about Jane Doe," Greg said, speaking for the first time in a while, having gotten over the brief reprimand via Grissom. "He killed her in a relatively public place, why didn't he wait until she got home? That is if he does need time to prepare."

"Maybe he didn't prepare for her." Warrick said, scrutinizing an overall of the crime scene, showing a decrepit alley, the lights of the strip sparkling in the back ground. "He saw her on the street, she triggered something for him and he waited until she was alone and killed her." Most Serial Killers, they knew, often had a certain type or aspect of a person that triggered them to kill.

"But if he could wait for Mary Andrews and Juliana Leishman," Grissom said. "Why couldn't he wait for Jane Doe?"

"Maybe he doesn't need to wait." Catherine said, her voice grave. "Maybe he's always prepared."

"Okay," Grissom said. "Right now, we need the focus on the Leishman case."

"Fresh crime scene, fresh evidence." Catherine agreed, nodding.

"Nick, you and I are going to keep working on that. Catherine, I want you to go over the Andrew case, cross-reference her contacts, friends and routines with that of Juliana Leishman's. Greg, help her. Warrick, Sara, Jane Doe's the odd one out, find out who she is."

As the group began organizing the crime scene photos back into their respective folders before departing to commence their respective tasks, Sara intercepted Grissom before he could escape out the door.

"We already did everything we could to find Jane Doe." She said. "Warrick and I should be focusing on Juliana's case. Catherine said it herself, fresh evidence. What makes you think we'll have a major breakthrough, now?"

"Try harder." Grissom told her, simply. He left. Sara stood, annoyed, for a few breaths before heading out the door and off in the opposite direction.

* * *

**A/N: Let me know what you think? Juts push that friendly little button at the bottom and say hi! Or we can mutually squeal over the Twilight DVD? Any takers?**

**Coming up next: Bella tells Greg about her near-death encounter with Tyler's Van!**


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